


Stockholm

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, M/M, Non Consensual, Non-Consensual Violence, Off-screen Character Death, Rape, Rape Recovery, Sexual Violence, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-16 16:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate ending to STID wherein Khan captures the crew of The Enterprise and sends Jim hurtling back to earth as the failed hero. After taking a shine to Doctor McCoy things go from bad to worse, especially where Bones is concerned. When Starfleet are finally able to rescue him it seems that he might be suffering from captor-bonding but convincing the doctor of that is harder than it sounds. Can Jim save Bones? Or will Khan win the most important battle of all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stockholm

**Author's Note:**

> I understand that this is in many ways a serious fucked up story, with lots of seriously crazy shit happening, I hope I don't scar you too badly with the rape and the violence and then the dubiously consented sex later. As a McKirk shipper i thought it only right to have that in the denouement of my story but it's not particularly overt and can be read as a brotp story too i think - or maybe it's just not as overt as I would like it to be!

The back of Khan’s hand is cold. Cold even after the many blows he's already dealt his hostage.

He watches as the doctor lies huddled around himself on the cold metallic floor of the brig. His shoulder and hip bone ache from lying so long on his side but there is an infected phaser burn along his shoulder blade that his body has consciously catalogued as a source of the worst pain.

“Come now, doctor, I have some important news for you. Are you planning to ignore me all day?”

His voice is like venom; it sticks to the doctor like the blood that seeps from his wounds. But the doctor remains silent.

“The boy, Chekov, wasn’t it? Sad really.” Khan says slowly.

“What?” The doctor shifts, eyes searching for Khan’s. They burn black.

“Oh, so you _do_ talk?” Khan smiles. “He begged in the end, cried and wailed and begged for his life to be ended.”

“He was practically a _child_.” The doctor huffs, his breath coming in fast, ragged puffs.

“He was an integral part of a crew belonging to a ship which is now under my command. Thus he was mine to dispose of how I saw fit.” Khan counters, nudging his fingers into a bruise at the base of the doctor’s back. The doctor face contorts but he refuses to emit a sound. Although, Khan does not miss the lone tear that falls down the doctor’s cheek.

“When they find us they’ll kill you.” The doctor threats.

“Who is _they_ , exactly. Your captain? The glorious Jim Kirk? You think the Admiralty will come after me knowing the weapons that are at my disposal, knowing who runs this ship? You are foolish, doctor.” Khan laughs. “James Kirk became nothing the day I took his ship out from under him. Stranded on a shuttle headed straight for earth. Didn’t manage to worm his way out of that one, did he?”

Khan pulls a stool closer to the doctor and perches over him like a vulture. The doctor stays silent; trying to control his anger has proved one of the hardest parts of living under Khan’s rein. Losing his temper normally comes just before losing a rib, or something else of equal consequence. The doctor has sat in the same brig cell for nigh on two months now and no one has come. The doctor hates to doubt Jim, hates to lose hope. But he does and he has. He hates himself for it more than he hates Khan. Most days anyway. Khan likes to taunt the doctor about the desertion of Starfleet, remind him that he is alone on this ship filled with Khan’s genetically enhanced comrades and that he is not getting away.

Khan digs his nails deep into the flesh of the doctor’ shoulder, drawing blood almost carelessly. The doctor questions why he is being kept alive, wonders if Khan sends holos back to Starfleet with which to barter ransom. Much of the crew is dead; they died immediately when Khan blew up The Enterprise. Only the bridge crew was saved that fate. The doctor remembers the moment when Khan drew a knife to Jim’s throat. The way time had slowed, become heavy and almost halted altogether. The doctor waited for the moment when he would see Jim die, the moment when Khan would pull the blade along Jim’s throat. He’d been locked into a rigged shuttle instead and sent in the direction of earth. Sent back as a failed hero, an incompetent captain…

But why has the doctor been allowed to remain? He can no longer fulfil his role as a surgeon, he is too dehydrated and too exhausted to stand let alone operate.   And his hands always shake.

“I would like to try something different today.” Khan says, snapping the doctor from his thoughts. The doctor feels an immediate pull of nausea in his stomach; an uncontrollable wave of fear floods him. He has never felt a fear as thick as this, thick as blood. Not even his aviophobia gripped him like this. What other archaic methods of torture has this monster conjured… He has already spilled blood from the doctor’s heels, already pulled his shoulder from its socket. Was that insufficient? Perhaps some permanent mutilation will now ensue. Khan has been careful to avoid marking the doctor’ face, for reasons unbeknownst until now – perhaps this is his _pièce de résistance_.

“Could I get you a warm meal, doctor?” Khan asks, his voice lowering as if sharing some sordid secret. The doctor takes a moment to get over his surprise before knitting his eyebrows together in a frown.

“I don’t want an’thin’ from you.” He huffs.

“Not even something to dull the pain?” Khan suggests. And suddenly, but with the softness of a swan’s wing, Khan’s hand opens, gliding over the doctor’s bare chest. The doctor tries to shift but Khan’s other hand is firm on his shoulder, holding him in place. “Loosen the muscles?” His voice lingers, drawing the hairs on the doctor’s nape to rise. “Or perhaps another source of pain would act as a distraction.” Khan’s hand trailed back over the doctor’s shoulder, caressing the blade and dipping into the hollow along his spine. Khan let his nails pull along the skin, dragging raised red welts over the body below him.

…

Khan’s precum was not enough to ease the way. This torture, a tailored sort of impalement, pleased Khan greatly, and not just for the sexual benefits. Khan would whisper sickening nothings into the doctor’s ear and watch as his face paled and his eyes fought back defiantly. The shame he bore was greater when Khan’s companions were permitted to watch. Crusted blood and semen still stained his thighs days after he had been taken for the first time – a constant reminder of his shame. His shame to bear alone.

…

“Well what do we have here…?” Khan is flicking his fingers over his PADD with the doctor’s cheek resting against his thigh. Their position could perhaps be mistaken as that of lovers but the disinterest Khan adopts tells of the power play at work here. The doctor’s body is curled in between Khan’s open legs with no means of escape. It makes him feel claustrophobic, skin touching _so much_ skin. They are in Khan’s quarters, captains quarters that are not so different from those on the Enterprise. His body is almost bare. His knees grazed and bloody. His hands are tied behind him with crude leather bindings; a piece of cloth, which had acted as a gag, hangs limply around his neck, no longer concealing his bruised and bloody mouth. One ankle is loosely tethered to the bedframe with electronic cuffs; it lets the doctor know how far he can stray.  Even in the dim light of the bedroom, the profusion of wounds and bruises are all too distressingly evident. Khan’s eyes glance over the dark slashes that crosshatch his back, still glistening with fresh blood, his pride mal-concealed.

…

Every so often Khan allows him a day of rest.

The doctor lies like a wounded bird, an osteoregenerator at his side to push the broken ribs back into place. Another regenerator is bound to his heels to try and reverse the clipping of his wings. He lies in a rough slumber on the familiar bed, feeling the enclosure of gold bars around him – a figment of his imagination. The room, now his cage, is a far cry from any comfort. A damp cloth rouses him from his darkness and Khan’s eyes meet his. He hasn’t been able to stomach much food, whether that was from the systematic starvation he’d been subjected to or whether it was from the knowledge that the remainder of his crew are now all dead, one could not say.

“You need to keep your energy up, can’t have you dying on me.” Khan says. “I’ve brought some food.”

“I don’t want your food.”

“You will have what you are given.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“It is _not_ a request.”

The doctor clamps his mouth shut in defiance.

“There are ways around that you know.” Khan says. “If you wish to render your mouth useless I can have it arranged so that you are never again able to open it.”

“Then whose mouth would you fuck?” The doctor huffs, blushing, in part from his surge of confidence, and in part from his own admission.

“It would be a loss… but you and I both know there are other ways.” Khan says honestly.

“You’re a monster.” He hisses.

“By the time I am back you will have eaten what is laid out for you or I’ll take it as an indication that you wish to live out the remainder of your life as a mute.  Now while your inability to talk back _would_ please me greatly, it doesn’t seem particularly beneficial for our _budding_ relationship.” Khan smiles. Two men in medical shirts remove the regeneration units, _way too soon,_ the doctor notes, and follow Khan out of the room.

…

When Khan returns the food has been eaten.

As a means of showing his appreciation he hands the doctor paper copies of newly released medical journals. “A PADD would have been less trouble.” The doctor grouches, glancing at the pile on his bedside table.

“I can always take them back.” Khan says lightly and he starts to stand up from his desk.

“No.” The doctor says quickly. “No. I er– _thank you_.” He grits out.

“So sincere.” Khan laughs a little and returns to whatever it is he’s working on.

…

Things are not so pleasant the following night. Khan draws his blade over the doctor’s recently healed scars, skin still pink in places. He stains white scars with fresh blood and leaves the doctor in agony. His crew have begun to question his attachment to the doctor, what is the purpose of keeping him alive? Khan never explains his motivations; those who are closest to him see it as revenge. A way of taking from Kirk what was nearly taken from Khan. _Family._

But why keep the doctor _alive_? In the deepest part of Khan he hopes he will one day face James T. Kirk again, sometime soon even, and he will show him the fine art he has made of his doctor.

Khan pulls the blade over the doctor’s pectoral muscle, cutting a deep line that runs parallel to his clavicle. The doctor refuses to scream.

By the next day, with Khan’s attentions solely on him, the doctor feels unable to keep his eyes open. Much of his blood has been spilt and he cannot find the strength to lift the metal tether that ties him to the bed. He finds himself curled on the floor trying not to disturb puddles of his own blood; it has crusted in places and sticks to him. When Khan has rendered him practically immobile he places a soft kiss to his shoulder blade. The doctor’s stomach turns, bile rising in his throat. But Khan goes no further.

“You’ve done _so_ well.” He assures the doctor, something akin to awe in his voice. He has never seen the human capacity for pain pushed to such limits. The doctor’s will for survival is so strong it astounds him.

…

Khan soon returns to his quarters, having left the doctor barely a few hours to heal. He looks flushed, as if he has been running, and that thought confuses the doctor. He’s never seen Khan physically exerted.

“Why do you fight me?” Khan asks; it is a question that has been posed to the doctor on numerous occasions and one he rarely answers but he is feeling so starved today. Staved of conversation, of touch.

“There ain’t nothin’ left to fight _for,_ figure it’s easy to fight against somethin’, and let me tell you, you make it _so_ easy to want to.” The doctor replies. Khan considers this a moment and nods.

“If I knew you wouldn’t do something immensely stupid I’d let you walk freely around the ship. You are a competent doctor you could be useful in my sickbay.” Khan says.

“With the state I’m in I doubt it but thanks.” The doctor huffs.

“Why not submit yourself to me? I hate to continuously take from you that which you do not wish to give.” Khan turns now to look at the doctor; hazel eyes fired and ready to go.

“Is that your way of admitting you’re not that keen on rape? No one’s forcing you.” The doctor huffs.

“But doctor, you make it _so_ easy to want to.” Khan repeats, smirking. Lurid and proud. The doctor flushes and turns his face away. “Lie back on the bed.” Khan orders. The doctor’s Adam’s apple bobs, perhaps trying to quell the uneasiness in his stomach. By now the doctor knows better to resist. At least this way he only has to face Khan, left in the brig he was never sure who might wander in, in the brig he was fair game. At least here it is only Khan. The doctor closes his eyes and exhales, lying back to accept whatever is given.

The first breach of his body is always uncomfortable, no matter what Khan uses to ease the way. The pain overwhelms any pleasure that his body might naturally gain from stimulating the prostate. Half the time the doctors quite surprised at how inept Khan seems, just driving forward for his own orgasm, but then, why should it be any other way? They are not lovers, after all. The only warning the doctor gets is a gasp before he is filled with a warm sticky liquid. The only sign of the doctor’s acknowledgement is the flourish of deep red that crawls up his neck and cheeks. Khan chuckles breathlessly and withdraws. The movement is rough on the doctor’s freshly abused skin and he winces. Khan quickly removes himself from the bed and exits into the bathroom, for a warm shower no doubt. Only when he hears the bathroom door lock does the doctor allow himself to wipe away the semen that has dripped down his thighs. At least Khan hasn’t made him bleed this time. Although, he predicts Khan will begin to be rough again once he gets restless enough.

The doctor is starting to learn Khan’s patterns, learn when a certain raise of the brow means there will be violence or when a particular curl of the lips means he will be on his knees. It serves to his advantage really, now he knows how to act, how much lip he will get away with and when he really needs to _shut his mouth._

…

One night, about five months after being captured, lying in bed beside Khan, whose chest is steadily rising and falling, the doctor thinks about the whys of the situation. Not that he hasn’t before but every so often he likes to reorder his thoughts, make clear what he knows, say his name in his head a couple of times so that he doesn’t forget it.

Why would Khan keep _him_ alive? Yes, as Khan has mentioned on various occasions, he is a very good doctor. But he has a whole team of genetically engineered _very good_ doctors. Maybe the Federation know Khan has kept a member of the crew alive in order to make the chase all the more immediate. If they were all dead Starfleet could move at a snail’s pace as long as they eventually captured him but with the doctor alive there is something to work for. Maybe it is a direct attack towards Jim. Maybe Khan wants to ruffle his feathers.

Starfleet clearly doesn’t care that the doctor is being held hostage on Khan’s ship. They’ve had five months to find him; even deep space isn’t _that_ big. In a warped sort of way, the doctor thinks, it’s sort of flattering that Khan’s held onto him this long. He frowns at that thought; it’s just a show of how tired he is. But he can’t fall asleep. For Khan this must seem reasonable… Easy revenge. Maybe it isn’t about that at all anymore and he just wants to move on with his crew, keep them safe and not involve himself with the Federation ever again. The doctor can understand _that_ logic. If he ever gets back to earth he’s taking a nice general practitioner’s role in some nice quiet town.

That thought fuels his slumber and shapes his dreams. He wakes smiling.

…

“Do you think I could get hold of some neurological research?” The doctor asks when Khan returns from his time on the Bridge.

“You’ve cleaned the room.” Khan notes.

“Haven’t had much else to do.” The doctor says. “The place needed a bit of a tidy anyhow.”

“Hmm.” Khan gives him a strange look. “I’ll see about the journals, maybe tomorrow you’d like to head down to the lab?”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin.” The doctor says. “I haven’t been in a medbay in six months.”

“I thought you wanted to get out of here.” Khan says, looking at the doctor with fierce steel eyes.

“I do. I won’t try anything. Just down to the lab, have a look around; maybe do some further research into your folks’ blood.” The doctor shrugs.

“Keep a record of whatever you do.” Khan says lightly, but it’s clear it’s an order. “If you’re going down to the labs you’ll need to shave. Go into the bathroom and wait for me.” The doctor acquiesces, sitting on the edge of the bath. Khan comes in moments later with a particularly familiar blade. The doctor cannot help but tense, even though he knows that Khan isn’t going to hurt him. Khan hasn’t been physically abusive in a while. The touch of fingers is gentle, intimate and the doctor is soothed by the repetitive strokes of shaving cream followed by the blade. Khan’s movement are deft and precise… and lingering.

…

A few weeks later, after a small discrepancy in sickbay, the doctor finds himself on his knees before Khan. Khan has an old fashioned suture kit laid out on his desk and is sterilising the needle with rubbing alcohol. The doctor’s eyes are wide; he thinks he knows what is coming. But he knows Khan isn’t choosing to do this voluntarily, that it’s the pressures of his crew. Most of them hate the attention Khan lavishes on the doctor and most of them are gunning for his annihilation. This is a small mercy in comparison. The fact that Khan has chosen to do it this way shows that he does not want this punishment to be permanent, that the doctor can win back the trust he has lost.

The doctor is able to stay quiet while Khan sews the black surgical wire through his lips. Khan’s eyes are bright, like that of a proud tutor whose pupil _finally_ understands.  The doctor can feel the blood that seeps down his chin and fills his mouth.

“Swallow gently.” Khan says, picking up the cloth from his kit to wipe away the blood that runs down his face. The doctor nods, trying to keep his lips still as his throat works. “I’ll remove it in a couple of days, remember to keep it clean.” Then Khan fiddles with something else and the doctor realises he’s going to be hooked up to an old fashioned drip. Starving hadn’t even occurred to him. In the back of his mind something niggles at him, screaming that he’s getting too comfortable with all this madness, but he silences it and holds his arm out, palm side up, and watches as Khan inserts the IV. The doctor knows that Khan will take care of him; he doesn’t have to worry about anything when he is with Khan. “You need to conserve your energy; this is no substitute for real food as you well know. I’ve left some new journals on the bedside table. I have things to finish up here.”

The doctor takes a moment to process everything before nodding, then, seized by some unknown force; the doctor places a soft kiss high on Khan’s cheekbone and recedes into the bedroom. It leaves a faint smear of blood and hurts as a bruise does when you press down on it; the doctor tries to see some irony in that. The kiss was chaste, like a parting gift but there was a part of it that was pure compulsion, an obedient _thank you_. The doctor figures it was just what Khan needed after a day as stressful as this, especially with the main drama being ultimately the doctor’s fault.

…

Khan finds the doctor in the shower a few days later, standing under a cool, if not slightly chilly, spray. There is a container of antibacterial wash open on the shower ledge while the doctor methodically cleans the stitching. Khan watches the doctor from his perch against the sink, he has a hypospray in his hand that will counteract the doctor’s low fibre and iron levels and a fresh glucose IV. The doctor maintains eye contact, as he turns off the shower and pulls a towel off the rack. He wipes the inside of his elbow with a sterile wipe and holds it out for Khan, a recurring display of trust that has punctuated their every meeting since the doctor had his mouth sewn shut. The doctor finds he is able to smile now, a sign he is healing quite rapidly.

“This is the last one.” Khan says, level gaze meeting the doctor’s tentative glance.  “Tomorrow morning you can report down to the labs again and continue with your work.” The doctor nods.

They ready themselves for bed in silence. The doctor is mindful of the drip and so chooses to sleep shirtless, not that this is an altogether unusual occurrence. The doctor has found he has very little to be ashamed of in front of Khan. He is almost proud of himself when he looks down at the white scars that litter his tanned skin, some long and brutal-looking, others little and almost teasing. He has come through such terror and is now on the other side. Just as Khan slides in bed besides him his comm beeps. He frowns, he is never disturbed once he is in his quarters, there is really nothing to be disturbed by so far out into the black. The doctor throws a cautious glance at Khan, his dark hair mussed from the humidity of the bathroom.

“We’ve been hailed by a ship.” Khan says. “Looks like the Federation have finally come to steal you from us.” The doctor frowns. It’s been nearly a year; eight months maybe… the doctor has lost count. Why would they come now? “You may come with me onto the bridge if you wish.” The doctor shakes his head; he wants to say _unless you want me there_. But he can’t. He exhales through his nose and eyes Khan questioningly. _What do you want me to do?_ Is what the gaze says. 

“Perhaps it would be best for you to rest tonight, we can face them in the morning.” Khan says. The doctor isn’t sure whether that means Khan will stay with him tonight… he doesn’t want to be alone. “I am needed on the bridge.” Khan says regretfully. “I shouldn’t be too long.”

So the doctor waits.

…

Khan is surprised they ever let James Kirk step foot on a starship ever again, it even looks as if he’s first officer of this vessel. The captain is a surly looking fellow that is in dire need of retirement.

“It seems you found us.” Khan says, giving his own first officer a nod to load what torpedoes are left into weapons bay. He watches as Kirk’s face turns white with outrage. “But I’ve only got one of your crewmembers left, James.” He says nonchalantly, watching the rage drain away leaving a hollow numb look.

“Give us the name of the _Enterprise_ crew member which you still hold hostage.” The captain orders.

“I believe his name is Leonard McCoy.” Khan says and Kirk’s eyes flutter between relief and fear.

“You will transport him to us immediately.” The captain says, nonplussed.

“He’s resting at the moment. I’d hate to wake him.” Khan rebuffs. “We’ll reconvene in the morning. Keep the shields up.”

“Yes, Captain.” His helmsman nods.

“Khan out.” And the connection is cut.

“They’re hailing us again, sir.” His communication officer notes.

“Denied.” Khan says. “They’ll get the message soon enough.”

…

The doctor sits very still, chin slightly raised, as Khan carefully removes the suture. It is much less traumatic than sewing it in had been, and with a couple of minutes under the regenerator it should be healed perfectly. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to this again.” Khan says, a reprimand is surely hidden in there somewhere but the doctor is more concerned with the sadness he sees in Khan’s eyes.

 “It won’t.” The doctor assures, pleased that he hasn’t lost his ability to form words. “I did not mean to offend your CMO; sometimes I just can’t stop myself, my mouth runs away of its own accord.”

“There are worse flaws for a person to have.” Khan reassures him, tucking a stray hair behind the doctor’s ear. “Would you like to head down to the bridge now?”

He knows he shouldn’t ask but he can’t help himself. “Is Jim on the ship?”

“Does the answer to that question really matter?” Khan asks, stopping still in the doorway. “He abandoned you, took nine months to find you and you still _care_?”

“It’s not that.” The doctor says quickly. “I was just wondering, is all.” He could inflect his words with a shrug but he knows how much Khan hates the sloppiness of a shrug so he straightens slightly and offers a wary smile.

“I believe he’s the first officer.” Khan says. “I realise your curiosity was not meant as a slight on my part, your attachment to him is however, frankly astonishing.” 

“I know. I’m sorry.” The doctor says. “Do you think it would be beneficial for me to go to the bridge?”

“I want them to know that you are alive and well. I believe that if they have no guarantee of your wellbeing they may open fire on our ship.” Khan says, guiding the doctor down the many corridors towards the bridge. “I do not want to risk the lives on anyone on this ship, in theory we could outrun them on warp but I thought you might wish to see Kirk again.”

“I don’t want to place anyone in danger.” The doctor counters.

“Perhaps this is your chance to earn the trust of this crew.” Khan says gently. “Open a comm link with _The Excalibur._ ” Khan says to his communications officer who sets to work immediately.

“Bones?” Is the first sound that comes out of their sound system. The doctor’s eyes flick up to the screen and see Jim assessing the damage. The doctor wants to hide his lips, he knows what this must look like and he hasn’t had any time under the regen machine yet. He flicks his eyes over to Khan who encourages him to step closer. “What has he done to you?” Jim’s voice is soft, he looks so confused, trying to catalogue bumps and bruises that aren’t there because they don’t exist because Khan _doesn’t_ hurt him anymore.

“Kirk.” _The Excalibur’s_ captain warns. “Good to see you, McCoy.” The old man says. “We’re going to negotiate your safe transfer over to _the Excalibur_ and we’ll take it from there.”

But the doctor is still watching Khan, who smiles at the vidscreen. “And if the doctor wishes to stay?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Kirk raises his voice past the calm, soft tone the doctor is used to. “Bones!” He urges the doctor to look at him. “You don’t want to stay. You can’t.” The doctor isn’t sure what he wants.

“McCoy is a Starfleet officer, colluding with the enemy will get him court martialled.” The captain says, more to Khan than to the doctor. “If he refuses to be transported to this ship then he will be charged along with the rest of your crew.”

“I resign.” The doctor says. “As an officer. I resign.”

“Bones?” Jim questions. “Bones! Would you _look at me_?” And so the doctor raises his eyes to meet Jim’s over the vidscreen. “We found you, Bones, we came all this way.”

“Thanks ever so.” The doctor says. “Seem like a wasted journey now, does it?”

“What? No, of course not. We’ve come to bring you home.” Jim says. “Let me go over there, let me talk to him?” Jim looks to his commanding officer.

“You are talking to him, commander. Do not push your luck.” The captain spits.

“They’ve threatened him. Or he’s been brainwashed. This isn’t him, this isn’t what he wants.” Jim urges, pleads, for them to understand. “What if I could-”

“No. None of this crew steps foot on that ship. Khan.” He turns his head from Jim back to the vidscreen. “You will surrender to us or we will have to intercept you by force.”

“We have thirty-five torpedoes in our weapon bay. I don’t believe you have the force to match us.” Khan says.

“Believe what you like.” Jim spits.

“Enough, Kirk. Or you will find yourself off this bridge faster than you can say torpedo.” The captain huffs.

“Are you suggesting that you have the weaponry to match us, James?” Khan asks, lip curving into a cruel grin.

“I didn’t say anything.” Jim smirks.

“I’m calling your bluff.” Khan says. “We’ll just have to see who comes out on top.”

“Whenever you’re ready.” Jim smiles and the doctor realises he is not bluffing. He moves to do something, to warn Khan, to accept his fate, when suddenly they are surrounded by Federation ships. “Not torpedoes.” Jim says. “But half the fleet to haul you in. Put down your shields.”

…

There are so many people on the ship that usually houses only seventy four lives. Some have tried to run, some have tried to fight but even in all their genetically enhanced glory they are nothing against the sheer number of Federation officers. Khan stays close to Leonard, watching him carefully as Phillip Boyce checks him over.

“I’m fine, Admiral.” Leonard says.

“Leonard you have open suture wounds around you mouth, you are not fine.” Boyce scolds. “There are signs of sexual assault, take bloods, the tricordor shows no sign of infection but I want to be sure.” He quietly tells a nurse. Christine Chapel, his brain supplies, they were in a few classes together in the academy. If Boyce was a doctor worth anything, which Leonard knows he is, he would know that the most recent sexual intercourse, that over the last six or seven weeks, has been consensual. Boyce just doesn’t want to admit it. “And get hold of Doctor Dehner, I want him to have a psych eval. as soon as we land.”

“Yes, Admiral.” She says, scurrying off in search of medical supplies.

“How is he?” Leonard is vaguely aware of Jim’s voice but he’s putting most of his energy into making sure Khan is in his line of sight. Khan is cuffed and surrounded by four security brutes; Leonard wants to be slightly closer, just to be safe.

“He’s in better nick than I imagined if I’m honest. Lots of evidence for past physical trauma but all healed, not to the highest standard mind you. These suture holes are fresh, removed an hour or so ago. Tricordor says he had the stitching in for about a week.” Boyce continues. “I think the damage might be more psychological now.” He shrugs. “You read up much about Stockholm syndrome?”

“What like capture-bonding?” Jim asks, he’s only taken basic psych classes, and mostly practical stuff, PTSD, Cabin fever, that kind of stuff.

“Yeah. He’s been on this ship for nine months nearly Jim, I don’t know what shit he’s been exposed to. He’s physically scarred pretty badly, there are the tell signs of broken ribs, fractured bones, things Leonard never had before coming onto this ship. When someone is in that kind of danger they’ll do whatever they can to survive. It’s not a conscious decision, it just happens.” Boyce explains.

“So now what? He’s best pals with the bastard?” That grabs Leonard’s attention and he pulls his arm out of Boyce’s careful grip, glaring at Jim.

“What do you know about it Jim?” Leonard asks, bitterly. “Stockholm syndrome? Come on Boyce, I have a PhD in psychology, this isn’t Stockholm syndrome. I’ve been on this ship for nine months and I’m still alive. I wouldn’t be if it wasn’t for Khan. My trust… my _loyalty_ is well earned.”

“The bastard sewed your–”

“I know, Leonard. I’d hate to insinuate otherwise… I just have to explore every avenue. You’re a doctor, you know medical protocol.” Boyce says calmly, leading Jim away. Leonard moves off of the seat he was forced into and closer to Khan. The security unit look at him with strange, ignorant eyes but move slightly to let him through.

“How are you going to get out of this mess?” Leonard whispers, with the affection he reserves for asinine children, the voice he once reserved for Jim.

“I want to tell you something, Leonard.” Khan says softly. “They’ll try and turn you against me; he’ll try and win you back. He can never understand what you’ve been though, what we’ve been through. Even my crew couldn’t really understand. But you know why I’ve done what I’ve done don’t you?”

“Yes.” Leonard says, and he really thinks he does. “It wasn’t your fault your crew distrusted me, I was like a beacon of Starfleet thrust into their faces. I represented the force that nearly took away everything you all hold dear.”

“Don’t let them ruin how you see me. Don’t let them ruin us.” Khan says, lightly brushing the back of his hand over Leonard’s cheek.

“Lieutenant McCoy, please step away from the prisoner.” One of the security officers orders.

“I don’t know where they’ll take me.” Leonard says softly. “But I’ll find you.”

“See that you do.” Khan says.

…

“Cognitive dissonance.” Dehner says. “You understand what I mean when I use that term?”

“The discomfort that comes with being ambivalent.” Leonard says, like he’s reading from a dictionary.

“Indeed. It explains how people can change their belief system to support situations that are unhealthy, perhaps physically and psychologically. A smoker understands that cigarettes will kill them but continues to smoke because they tell themselves that they’re going to die sooner or later anyway.” Dehner explains.

“I don’t smoke.” Leonard says, purposefully obtuse.

“Okay, perhaps something you can better relate to. Your partner becomes abusive but you cannot leave the relationship so you console yourself by saying _at least he only hits me open-handedly_.” She suggests. “If we look at the symptoms of Stockholm syndrome it should be clear to a man of science, like yourself, that this is what you’re suffering from.”

“You’ll spin the situation to fit your theory whatever I say but I have to be here so go ahead.” Leonard says.

“You were systematically assaulted in the first few months of your being aboard _The Vengeance_ , would you say that’s an accurate description?” She asks.

“Yes.” Leonard nods. “Khan needed to establish whether he could trust me or not. It was an unstable time for the crew, what with just being woken up after a couple of hundred years in cryotubes and being nearly killed by Marcus.”

“What is your emotional standpoint on rape?” She continues.

“It wasn’t–” He pauses. “At first it was just another way to make me see reason, but it changed. It wasn’t rape.” Leonard hates the way his voice goes quiet, feels like betrayal.

“I didn’t ask you about your personal experience. I asked you what you think of rape in general… What is your emotional reaction?” She repeats.

“It’s wrong, of course it is. I know it’s wrong. But you have to look at the circumstances here.” Leonard says.

“Okay.” Dehner nods. “If a man says that his rationale behind raping a young woman was to make her see reason, what would you think of that?”

“It’s different. I think it’s fair to say I was in a very particular situation.” Leonard counters.

“The situation of a hostage and captor?” Dehner suggests.

“To begin with, but then it was clear that he didn’t want to hurt me. They no longer withheld food, he brought me into his quarters, brought me medical journals to read.” Leonard explains. “He thought if he brought me PADDs I would try and contact Starfleet. I might have in the beginning, so really he was right.”

“But now, if you were back there now and he offered you a PADD, you wouldn’t contact Starfleet?” Dehner asks.

“No ma’am.” Leonard says after a moment. “I don’t think I would.”

“Psychological studies suggest that we are more loyal and commit to something that is difficult, painful and even humiliating. Like military initiations, soldiers feel more connected knowing that they’ve all gone through the same brutal experience. There is a lot of emotional investment in abusive relationships; you’ve gone through so much that it’s only natural to what to fulfil it to an end point, to see it through.” Dehner says.

“But the relationship isn’t abusive. Not anymore, it started off badly, but it wasn’t a relationship then.” Leonard explains.

“What about the sewing incident, that was only a week or so before Starfleet intercepted the ship.” Dehner asks, genuinely curious.

“I insulted a crew member down in medical. The CMO. Khan wasn’t going to do anything, but the pressure from the crew for discipline was too much. I allowed it.” Leonard says.

“You’ve lost much of your Georgian intonation, can you account for that?” Dehner asks.

“I suppose you’ll say it’s identification with the abuser? That I’m mirroring the inflections of his speech in order to manipulate him, to keep me safe? You and I both know accents can be dampened when one spends a long period of time away from that accent. I sound like them because I’ve heard nothing but their voices for the last nine months.” Leonard says.

“Very well, Leonard. I think that’s enough for now, you need to rest.” She says, straightening her notes. “I believe you’ll be staying at the hospital as an in-patient tonight, feel free to go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat.”

“When will I be able to see Khan?” Leonard asks before he can stop himself. He knows that those with Stockholm syndrome display difficulties being away from their abusers but this _isn’t_ that, _goddammit_. He just needs to see him, talk to him quickly to know all is well.

“He’s being held in a high security facility at Starfleet headquarters, I’m afraid you won’t be able to see him for a few days yet.” Dehner says, leaving the room. He watches her through the window as she reports back to Boyce, he can see Jim too. He moves closer to the door and strains to hear their conversation.

“He meets all the signs of Stockholm. Identification with the abuser, and there was obviously perceived threat, isolation and inescapability to start the ball rolling. Leonard has warped his own opinions of right and wrong in order to excuse Khan’s actions. He clings to anything positive that has passed between them and refuses to acknowledge the gravity of the situation.” Dehner is saying.

“Small kindness.” Boyce says gently.

“What?” Jim asks.

“When we’re in a position of trauma we look for any evidence of hope. There is something they call the small kindness perception, the idea that anything good the captor does for the victim, even when it is mutually beneficial is a sign of goodness in the captor. It helps to strengthen Stockholm syndrome. Have I got that right Liz?” Boyce asks.

“Pretty much. It’s kind of the idea that abusers are given positive credit when they do something non-abusive. Where sending Leonard a medical journal might be second nature to you or me, because we know his interests and it doesn’t necessarily take much on our part, when Khan did it, it showed Leonard that he wasn’t completely evil and that he was human like the rest of us.” Dehner expands. “What did the rape kit show?”

“Seems to have been consensual for the last few weeks at least.” Boyce says, flicking his gaze over to Jim. “I understand you’re his emergency contact, Jim, but you don’t have to stay for all the gory details.”

“I don’t want Bones to think I’m prying, that I’m being nosy. But I need to know what’s happened to him if I have any chance of fixing it.” Jim says gently.

“Right now, the worst thing you can do is try and paint Khan as the evil hell raiser; it will only further isolate him from us.” Dehner says. “Do not make a judgement about their relationship, it’ll only end badly.”

“Doesn’t sound easy.” Jim huffs.

“If you can’t do it then it’s best to stay away from him.” Boyce says.

“No. Of course I can. I just… It’s going to be difficult.” Jim says. “Can I go in?”

“Of course, Jim.” Dehner says.

“Bring him up to the observation ward when you’re through.” Boyce says. Leonard moves away from the door and pretends to be picking at his nails when Jim walks in, smile plastered over his face.

“Bones.” He says, sitting across from him. “Dehner’s a bombshell isn’t she?”

“I’ve only ever had bad experiences with blondes.” Leonard says gruffly, that wipes the smile off Jim’s face.

“But it’s better with brunettes, is it?” Jim asks, tone impartial.

“Yes, thank you.” Leonard nods.

“Your boyfriend killed our crew Bones. Killed Spock, Uhura, Sulu, Chekov, Scotty, Carol’s dead and bless her heart it was only her first week on _the Enterprise_. He blew apart your sickbay, killed your nurses, killed M’Benga.” Jim says bluntly. “Your experience with blondes can’t be worse than that.”

“He did it to protect his crew.” Leonard says.

“He killed Chekov, who was barely out of diapers to protect his crew. A crew who had already warped away from the wreck of the Enterprise and was safe sailing in the black! What exactly did Uhura do that she posed such a threat? I think, by the sounds of what they went through, Scotty and Carol got away lightly being blown to pieces by those pesky torpedoes.” Jim says, barely containing his anger.

“I’m sorry.” Leonard says. “It wasn’t in my power to save them. I tried.”

“Bones! For Christ’s sake, it wasn’t _your_ fault! It was him.” Jim says. “I was so glad when I heard you’d been kept alive, I couldn’t believe it. It was selfish to be glad that it was you but I was. But now you’re… you’re on _his_ _side_ and I just don’t understand.”

“You’ll never understand.” Leonard says softly, as if he pities Jim. “You weren’t there, but he was and he understands. He was all I had up there and now he’s gone.”

“Oh Bones.” Jim says, and then pauses to reassess the situation, deep sadness in his blue eyes. “I can try to get it arranged for you to see him soon. I shouldn’t think it would be a problem.” He’s reverting into his Captain’s voice. “Let me walk you back to the ward.”

“I’ll be fine, I know my way around Starfleet medical.”

“Bones.” Jim says sternly. “I’ve been asked to escort you back, so let’s just get it over with.”

…

Leonard had asked to see Khan alone but he knew the in room which they sat was far from private - a one way mirror filling the length of one wall with Dehner and Jim behind it, no doubt.

“Your mouth has healed well.” Khan says, reaching his hand out to lightly touch Leonard’s wrist.

“Phillip Boyce is looking after my physical care. Not that there’s anything wrong with me.” Leonard says.

“Starfleet likes to be thorough.” Khan replies.

“They’re making me see a shrink.” Leonard admits. “There’s talk of Stockholm syndrome. I’m going to discharge myself if it carries on much longer.”

“Well they’ve certainly utilised the situation to their advantage, you won’t be able to offer a defence of our crew if you’re receiving therapy for Stockholm syndrome.” Khan adds.

“I never even thought about that. Of course they’ve done it so I can’t provide evidence at the trials.” Leonard feels frustrated now and silly for being so blind to Boyce’s motivations. “And theoretically I fit the brief perfectly.”

“But we both know the truth. Know that you wanted everything I had to give you.” Khan says, voice soft and sultry. Leonard’s fingers brush over Khan’s knuckles. He doesn’t know what to say, he can’t deny it but he knows he’s being watched and he knows he shouldn’t agree. Khan moves his head to draw Leonard’s gaze back to him, and they share what could be called an intimate moment before the door to the holding room opens and Jim is storming forward.

“Bones. Out.” He orders.

“Excuse me?” Leonard says. “You can’t just order me around Jim; you’re not the captain anymore.”

“Only because he murdered my crew.” Jim yells. “How can you even bare to look at him?”

“Kirk!” Dehner calls from the doorway. “This is not how we decided to handle the situation.” She warns.

“You just want me to sit back and watch the two of them hold hands?” He questions, no, _demands_ of Dehner.

“Is that particularly problematic for you, James?” Khan asks. “The hand holding.”

“You don’t deserve to touch him. You tortured and ra–”

“Jim, enough.” Dehner says. “Leonard, we’d better go. I know it’s been a short visit but Khan needs to be taken back for further questioning.”

“When will I be able to come back?” Leonard asks, ignoring Jim’s cry of outrage.

“Not before the trial, Jim had to pull some strings to get you in here at all. The brass aren’t in favour of your fraternisation.” She says honestly.

“It’s okay.” Khan says. “Just remember what I told you.” He eyes Kirk and Leonard follows his gaze. Leonard nods and slowly, but surely, follows Dehner from the room. Kirk lingers at the doorway, torn between ripping Khan’s head off and bursting into tears.

“Now you know how it feels to have everything you love taken from you.” Khan says, his voice level.

“We’ll fix him you know. You’ll lose.” Jim counters.

“Not the way you’re going about it. You’re digging your grave deeper.” Khan says. “I must say I’m regretful I don’t get to keep him, it’s been _most enjoyable_.”

Jim grits his teeth and walks away before he explodes. What the hell is he meant to do now?

…

“What are the good qualities about your relationship?” Dehner asks.

“Excuse me?” Leonard frowns.

“List a couple of things you enjoy about your relationship?” Dehner rephrases.

“It’s safe, stable, consistent. We understand each other.” Leonard says.

“Would you say you feel anxious to be kept away from Khan?” Dehner says.

“No more than anyone would be anxious in my situation.” Leonard huffs.

“And what is your situation?” Dehner asks.

“Not being allowed any contact, not knowing if he’s okay. Surely there is some level of anxiousness in anyone being kept away from a loved one.” Leonard says.

“You love him?” Dehner prompts.

“I… It’s not simple. I feel responsible for him. He trusts me.” Leonard fumbles for his words.

“Leonard, as someone with a degree in psychology, can you understand why we believe you are suffering from Stockholm syndrome?” She asks, softly now, placing a hand on his forearm.

“In an abstract way, yes.” He says after a while. “I’m exhibiting some of the symptoms, clearly the initial captor-victim relationship could have acted as a catalyst, being unable to escape the brig initially, being subjected to physical and emotional harm.  I understand where you’re coming from.” Leonard acknowledges.

“But?”

“I’m scared.” He whispers.

“Of?”

“Everything.” Leonard replies. “I don’t know how to function without him. Directing me, guiding me. My world has revolved around him for _nine months_. Only him. Almost every hour of the day. My thoughts are undercut by what I know he’d think, what he’d say. Stockholm syndrome is meant to be a survival instinct but I feel like admitting it, admitting that everything _isn’t_ okay will be the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

Dehner smiles at him then. The first smile Leonard’s been granted in a while. She looks relieved and not pitying. She looks at him like he’s the man he used to be, not this shell of a person he’s become. “We can work with that, Leonard. But we have to work on letting go of those positive feelings towards Khan, and you need to re-establish positive connections with the people close to you.”

“Most of whom are dead.” Leonard says. “Only two men walked away from _The Enterprise,_ I should have done something. It was so quiet in the beginning but I could hear Nyota screaming and Spock, even _Spock_ broke.”

“Survivors guilt is perfectly normal, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we see some post-traumatic stress crop up. But it’s okay, we can help you with that. The fates of your crew were out of your control Leonard. You were locked in a brig cell trying to survive, what more could anyone ask of you?” Dehner says.

“I–” He pauses, suddenly frustrated. “It’s so _hard_ not to defend him.”

“I know. When you hear something enough it becomes the only truth you know. His reasons may be valid to him but you know your own morality Leonard, remember that.” She urges. “What he did to you was wrong. What he did to your crew was wrong. No excuses.”

“You’re pretty fierce when you want to be.” Leonard huffs out a small laugh.

“I like to think after four sessions I’m starting to realise what you need from me as a therapist.” Dehner says.

“Khan always said I could take it pretty rough.” Leonard says offhandedly, and then quickly blushes. “I… oh God. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Dehner shrugs. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing ever said in a consultation.”

“I just… He seemed so amazed by me, I– It worked in his favour I suppose.” Leonard muses. “I was flattered, he would say things, he seemed in awe of my ability to take whatever he dished out, to survive.”

“He doesn’t have a very high opinion of most un-engineered humans.” Dehner says. “Perhaps you surprised him.”

“I don’t think I should attend the trial, even in a visitor capacity.” Leonard says. “It won’t be good for me to see him.”

“I agree, but this should be your choice, being kept from him will only make you resentful. Accepting the fact you have Stockholm syndrome and getting past it are very different feats.” She says.

…

Leonard dreams that he is falling, falling through a pitch black sky. His body jolts and a hand is hot around his forearm, he opens his eyes and it’s Khan. Khan’s eyes; as black as the darkest corner of space and yet a soft velvety blue all at once. Khan’s eyes burn with hatred and love and desperation and hope. Leonard knows Khan wants him, wants him carnally and primitively and uncontrollably. Just as Leonard wants Khan. When he wakes Leonard is drenched in sweat and freezing and half-hard. The chrono reads 0241, it’s the latest Leonard has woken up since being able to sleep in his old bed with Khan. Leonard decides that a shower is his safest option, a nice cold shower.

The hotel that Starfleet have him hold up in is more luxurious than is really necessary. A bitter part of Leonard thinks they’re trying to butter him up, trying to win him over, Starfleet want him to hate Khan, want him to believe he’s suffering from captor bonding. He wants Khan more than he can vocalise, and Khan’s is the face he pictures when he takes himself in his hand. After the post-orgasm glow has subsided and all Leonard is aware of is the cold spray like pins along his shoulders the guilt sets in. The self-loathing that he feels because he knows what he feels for Khan is wrong, and not necessarily even reciprocated. Although he hopes it is.

“Get a grip.” He huffs.

When he re-enters the main room of the suite Jim is sat awkwardly on one of the sofas. Leonard doesn’t remember ever witnessing Jim do anything awkwardly and it makes him uncomfortable.

“Hey, Bones.” Jim says softly. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“So you broke in?” Leonard asks, his tone unamused but familiar.

“I thought you’d run away but then I heard the shower so…” Jim shrugs.

“I’m sorry about the way I’ve been.” Leonard says.

“No you’re not. Not yet at least.” Jim smiles. “I know he still means a lot to you even though Liz says you’re trying to work through this captor-bonding thing. I want you to know I’ll do whatever I can to help, that goes without saying.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Leonard says.

“So you won’t be going to the trial?” Jim asks.

“I didn’t think I’d be good for my recovery, but it’s hard. I…I still want him.” Leonard looks away. “Sorry Jim, I shouldn’t–”

“Bones, you don’t have to apologise.” Jim says, a blush of his own slightly marring his fair skin.

“You bond with your captor you survive, you don’t you die. As simple as that. That’s all it should be. But it’s not, there’re all these messy things tangled in between.” Leonard explains.

“Least he’s easy on the eyes.” Jim puffs out a laugh.

“Dammit, Jim.” Leonard says softly, lip curling in a half smile.

“Sorry, we should be eating ice cream and bitching about him, shouldn’t we?” Jim says.

“Yes to the first… and, ah, maybe later to the second.” Leonard says.

…

The day of the trial Leonard is a bag of nerves. Due to his _relationship_ with Khan he has not been asked to provide evidence by the defence or by the prosecution. The defence know that anything helpful Leonard says will be totally disregarded due to his supposed Stockholm syndrome and Jim has politely asked that the prosecution _stay away_ from Bones until he’s completely better – they have enough to sink Khan and his crew without any need for Bones. However it seems that the Jury are rather taken with Khan and his story of love and freedom fighting and his defence actually uses the well-publicised warmongering intentions of Admiral Marcus to paint Khan as a hero who stopped the man who may have incited an intergalactic battle with the Klingons.

The prosecution have asked for a day’s break to reconfigure their arguments and so court has been adjourned. Jim was supposed to be giving evidence this afternoon but he’ll just have to come back tomorrow. It’s not like he has much else planned for the foreseeable future apart from pencil pushing reports and helping out with the major overhaul currently going on within Starfleet command. But Bones had come along to the courthouse to wait for Jim, he said being there without actually having to _be there_ eased his nerves a bit. Jim didn’t really understand and had tried to make Bones spend the day in bed or at least curled up on the lush hotel room sofa. But Bones was having none of it.

Khan was supposed to be led straight from the docks back into his holding cell so what could possibly go wrong? Well lots if the the fact he somehow ended up in the courthouse foyer sat beside a completely terrified Leonard McCoy was anything to go by.

“You came.” Khan says evenly.

“Please, don’t.” Leonard’s breath hitches as he throws a tentative side-glance in Khan’s direction.

“I got free of my guards, I came to find you.” Khan smiles encouragingly.

“We can’t do this. This is wrong.” Leonard breathes because it seems to be the only thing he _can_ do. He can’t move, can’t scream.

“Is that what they’ve told you?” Khan asks gently. “We knew they would try and turn you against me.”

“Did you kill them? Your guards?” Leonard asks.

“No, they are merely incapacitated. I did it all for you, but we need to leave now.” He urges. “Walk with me.” He pulls Leonard up from his seat and moves them out of an alcove area of seating and down the hall, out into a courtyard and then casually down some back streets. They look to all the world like a couple, young lovers spending their evening together wandering the streets of San Francisco. Leonard spares a thought for Jim who must be out of his mind with worry.  Leonard considers the merits of allowing himself to worry, it would be better to just let Khan coax him back into the safe territory of bonded-victim, easy and warm and safe. This will undo his many sessions of therapy, one part of his brain tells him, but Khan’s firm grip against his arm is so hot it almost scolds and Leonard finds himself leaning into the touch, craving more.

They book into a dodgy looking motel after walking an hour and a half to get close enough to the Highway. Most civilians wouldn’t know Khan to look at him but the room is still booked under the name Leo Harrison, just to be safe. They’ll stay there this evening and start their journey South early tomorrow morning. Leonard feels sort of numb, like the life he might have just gotten back has been ripped away from him and now the consolation of having Khan’s arms wrapped tight around his waist is not all that sweet. Quite bitter to tell the truth. Although that’s how Leonard likes his coffee and his chocolate, so why not his men too?

“Why so tense?” Khan murmurs into Leonard’s nape. He’s still inside him even though he’s already come and Leonard is trying his hardest _not_ to find comfort in the feeling of that strong chest pressed so close against his back. He can feel himself slipping again, falling like he does in his dreams. Leonard is giving into Khan again when he should actually pick up the phone and dial 911 or Starfleet Command or _Jim_.

“It’s been a while.” Leonard says once he realises he hasn’t responded.

“You’re always so tight.” Khan says, and the comment simultaneously makes Leonard’s stomach lurch and his heart thump. He is _so_ fucked up. So, so, _fucked up_. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” Leonard says reflexively. “It was good. I missed you.”

“They nearly got you but I came back for you, we both knew I would didn’t we? I couldn’t leave something as precious as you in the hands of those Starfleet imbeciles. You are mine.” Khan assures him and Leonard is only able to softly nod, pushing himself back, closer, into Khan’s embrace. “Sleep now, I’ve got you, you’re safe.”

And so he does.

…

The second day of their journey finds them in a second-hand shuttlecraft sales yard and plastered all over the newsfeeds. When the shuttle dealer recognises them Khan has no qualms about shoving a piece of piping through his throat and walking aboard the shuttle of his choice. It’s a fairly small thing, a hybrid made in the shape and layout of the traditional starships; however as with most shuttles it only has one deck. The sole deck is comprised of a three person bridge, a small transporter bay, two clinical rooms, a rec room with a small adjoining mess and the captain’s quarters.

“Our own little home.” Khan says, a fire alight in his eyes. “And named _The Horatio_ , imagine that.”

“What about the crew?” Leonard asks.

“All apart from me were returned to their cyrostasis sleeps and their locations were kept hidden from me. Until I can access Starfleet’s more _secret_ data caverns you will have to make do with just my company.” Khan smiles; his sole attention is a thing to be both celebrated and feared in equal measure, Leonard feels a prickle of lust pool in his belly and looks wide eyed his captain.

“Later.” Khan leers, as if reading Leonard’s mind. “Do not fear. I have it on good authority that as part of your attempt to overcome your aviophobia you added some flight classes to your academic studies while at the academy?”

It was actually so that Leonard could be Jim’s helmsman for his many tries at the Kobayashi Maru, but he wasn’t going to tell Khan that. “I was an adequate pilot but it’s been a while.”

“I only ask in case of emergency, it’s a reassurance to know you’re skills extend further than sickbay.” Khan murmurs, he takes a seat at the helm while Leonard slips into what would presumably be a navigator’s chair under normal circumstances. Khan places his hand over Leonard’s thigh as the shuttle takes to the sky. Leonard isn’t sure why it takes him so long to ask but suddenly the urge is overwhelming.

“You read my file?” He asks.

“Both when we were aboard _The Vengeance_ and also while I was isolated from you while at HQ.” Khan nods.

“How did I measure up?” Leonard asks, again out of compulsion.

“More than _adequately_ , to say the least.”

“Thank you.”

…

_“It is believed that on the afternoon of December 17 th 2259, stardate 2259.351, the day of his trial for over 300 counts of murder and other terrorist affiliated acts, Khan Noonien Singh, whose aliases include Commander John Harrison, abducted Lieutenant Leonard McCoy after murdering two security officers and escaping from Starfleet headquarters. While their location is still unknown Starfleet command believe they have enough leads to begin a rescue attempt. Singh is extremely dangerous and likely to be armed and it is advised that members of the civilian public do not approach him, however if you believe you have any information pertaining to his whereabouts you are advised to immediately contact Starfleet Headquarters, the nu–”_

“Why, pray tell, are you listening to that nonsense?” Khan’s calm, measured voice makes Leonard’s heart nearly stop. He feels like a criminal caught with his hands around bars of dilithium, still perched in someone else’s safe. He is in actuality naked and wrapped only in a white sheet, limbs tangled with the cotton, he knows he looks thoroughly debauched and wanton (not to mention temptingly vulnerable) and hopes that might distract Khan.

“You said you didn’t murder the guards.” Leonard says softly.

“I didn’t want their deaths to weigh on your conscience. I only killed them to get back to you.” Khan says levelly.

“I don’t think they do have any leads otherwise they would have expanded, asked people in certain areas to come into HQ and give statements. I was only trying to keep us in the know.” Leonard explains.

“We’re headed to Ferenginar, I have the course set and it’s estimated that we should arrive in two days if we continue to travel at warp three.” Khan says. Of course a shuttle this size would never be able to endure a warp of anything higher and so Leonard just nods. “I thought you might want some company. We’re going to make a stop on Casperia Prime to get some much needed luxuries. We can make this more like home.”

“That sounds lovely.” Leonard nods obediently. “This sheet _is_ a bit lacking.”

“You can always sleep without it.” Khan encourages, kneeling on the edge of the mattress and smoothing the sheet off of Leonard’s body. Laying his own, partially clothed, form over Leonard’s, pinning him in place. Khan licks the shell of Leonard’s ear, Leonard feels heavy and lethargic, like he’s been drugged.

…

He awakens to the smell of fresh pastry and on top of a new thick and fluffy duvet, he is still naked and the old trusty sheet is no longer anywhere in sight. Khan is asleep next to him and his communicator is on the bedside cabinet. Leonard inhales, in the face of this temptation he’s not sure he won’t break. Maybe this is a test; it does seem careless for Khan to leave the ships only mode of contact casually thrown so close to him. Leonard wants to talk to Jim, or Liz, even Philip Boyce might be helpful now, but Jim, mostly he just wants to hear Jim’s voice. Wants to have Jim tell him what he needs to do.

Leonard bites his lip and he slips off the bed, walking round to the other side of it to stare at the comm. Such a small little thing that has so many possibilities attached to it. He takes the comm into his hands and slips into the ensuite. He knows Jim’s comm number off by heart. Even though he wants to hear his voice Leonard knows it will be safer to send a written message. So he writes:

_Khan’s comm - The Horatio headed for Ferenginar via Caperia Prime_

He deletes the message and prays to God Jim isn’t stupid enough to reply. He slips back into the bedroom, placing the comm precisely how he remembers finding it and gets back into bed. Hopefully they should be able to track his comm frequency but who knows how Khan has modified it so Leonard just hopes he can make contact with Jim again once they’ve landed because Ferenginar is a pretty big planet.

Until then he’s going to have to play his idolising, obedient whore and hope to keep in Khan’s good graces. In the back of Leonard’s mind he accepts this as the time he’s giving himself to get over Khan, to come to terms with the fact that they are not _in love_ but that actually Leonard’s judgement is totally faulted when it comes to the man now lain out beside him and that he needs to right himself. If he begs Khan to sink inside him once more before they land at their destination, well that must just be part of the letting go process.

…

To both Leonard and Khan’s surprise Starfleet are waiting for them when they land. Khan is furious. But it does not enter his mind to suspect Leonard. Khan is contained and then Leonard is ushered over to a medic who he shrugs away from.

“You shouldn’t refuse treatment.” The nurse says.

“I have no wounds you can treat.” He says, heading for Jim who’s been watching him with wide eyes since he first disembarked the ship.

“I was worried that you wouldn’t contact us, worried that it hadn’t been enough time.” Jim says honestly.

“I think it’s all over now.” Leonard says. “I just want to go home.”

“Of course you do, Bones.” Jim sighs with relief. “You don’t have to stay in that hotel, you should stay with me, the apartment has a guest room, it’ll feel more like home.”

“Thanks Jim.”

“I was so scared that he might hurt you… that I might lose you for good this time.” Jim says. He clasps his hands around Bones’ shoulders and grips, not tight enough to hurt but tight enough to let Bones know he’s there, he’ll _always_ be there.

“It’s okay now Jim, it’s finished.” Bones reiterates, more for Jim’s comfort than his own, this time. He puts his hand under Jim’s armpit to pull Jim closer, to make Jim _look_ at him. “I’m really sorry Jim, I never meant what I said about blondes.” And he huffs out a laugh, it sounds gravelly and familiar and that makes Jim look up. He’s not ready to laugh yet but there is a smile in his eyes.

“We can be trouble.” Jim shrugs. “But maybe worth it?”

“Yeah, Jim.” Bones says, kissing Jim’s forehead. “I think so.” 


End file.
